Ruin, Death, and Doom
by Sir Loin The First
Summary: Zamorak, in his eternal struggle for chaos, has chosen his mighty champions to destroy the Saradomists’ honor and faith. Author note: UNDERGOING MAJOR OVERHAUL.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: I don't own Runescape. Bleh.**

**Summary: Zamorak, in his eternal struggle for chaos, has chosen his champions to destroy the Saradomists' honor and virtues. **

**Prologue**

**On the out skirts of Varrock…**

The old man hummed wearily as he locked the cabinets for the umpteenth time. Day and night, he and his ancestors had guarded the evil for centuries. He could hear it whispering, promising him riches, power, anything, if he would forget his duty. Shaking his head, he said the ancient incantation that would raise the final barrier, so that the next day, it would have to be renewed.

Before going to bed, he uttered a simple prayer, "Great Guthix, please, give me the strength to restrain it. Do not allow the balance to be upset."

But it was not to be.

**Deep in outer space…**

In the sky, a red star was shining. Its surface was a maelstrom of energy, power… and chaos. It was the mighty God-star of Zamorak. It had remained dormant for decades, but now, its fury was about to be unleashed in one wrathful strike.

Electricity crackled, and lanced along with a thousand other bolts onto a single point of the surface. The charge built, until with a single blast, a crimson sphere of chaotic energy was sent hurtling onto the surface of Gielenor.

**Back on Gielenor…**

The ball of energy streaked along the night sky. Farmers working late at night paused to stare at it. Still, it flew across the sky, until, with pinpoint accuracy, it struck a hut on the off skirts of Varrock. For a split-second, the hut seemed to resist the blast, then it ceased to exist, so great was the force of chaos.

The guards, roused by now, ran to investigate the ruins. They searched and searched, but all they found were still-smoking bits of carbonized skeleton.

They stared in shock, until one bright light asked, "Well, what should we do about this? Report the incident?"

"Well…" The others fidgeted.

"I don't think so. If the cap'n knew that we were asleep or whatever, he'll have our asses in a sling," one ventured. "Besides, nobody knew him. So, he's not much of a loss. Let's just label this down as a clan raid. We've been having lots of that lately."

"Right. We'll deny that this ever happened. So, that way, we keep our jobs, nobody cares, end of story," the leader asserted. They all nodded.

"Let's go get some pints in the Jolly Boar, then!" Another exclaimed, and they all agreed. It was a strange night, and the best way to forget such things were to get wasted, and have no recollection of the events.

After the guards left the wreckage to get wasted, all became quiet. The silence could almost be felt. Then a broken plank creaked. A gauntleted fist shot out of the wreckage.


	2. Rebirth of Evil

**Disclaimer: I don't own Runescape, Like I stated in the last chapter...**

**Rebirth of Chaos**

**Wreckage of Jerick's hut**

The tall being climbed out of the wreckage. He wore a black platebody swathed with red. On the shoulder blades were spikes, sharp enough to gore a buffalo, if need be. His helmet was blacker than night, shaped like the legendary Torag's, and where there was supposed to be eyes; there were two glowing red slits. His weapons were two black, spiked warhammers, similar to the build of runite hammers, but one could instinctively know that they were exponentially more powerful than Torag's. A dark aura seemed to surround him, and wherever he walked, the earth shook, rocks split, and wood splintered. So terrifying was his demeanor, the six Barrows brothers would have cowered in front of him, given the chance. His god? Zamorak. His name? He knew it not, but Ruin would do for now.

He knew that there were two others, and also their names or titles, so he called them, in his booming, stentorian voice. "Doom! Death! Attend to me NOW!"

Quietly, quickly, like two shadows in the night, the entities who called themselves Doom and Death hearkened to his call, and seemingly materialized next to Ruin, apparently the strongest of the three.

Doom was a lithe female, and she wore a black coif-shaped helmet with dragon teeth lining the edges, along with a dragonhide top. The dragonhide seemed to be black, yet it carried a more sinister aura. Perhaps it was the cape stitched from fangs and black leather. Underneath the coif was a pale face, with long, jet-black hair. However, the most striking part about her face was her eyes. They were vivid green… easily memorable. For a weapon, she used a monstrous bow, larger than even those fashioned by ogres. When she spoke, it was with a soothing, yet grating tone.

"I… know your presence… somehow. Who, exactly are you?"

Surprisingly, when the answer came, it didn't come from Ruin, but from Death, indubitably the most intelligent of the trio. He donned a cloak seemingly weaved from shadows, as when it was swept side from side, the area seemed to grow darker than usual. He wore a simple robe of black, but brandished a scythe-staff. Underneath the hood was a simple clean-shaven face, with serpentine eyes.

He hissed, "The great Zamorak has forced us back into living using countless dead souls gathered from his stars. We are the Avatars of Ruin, Doom, and Death. He wishes for us to destroy the three Sarodomist virtues, honor, destiny, and life. That senile fool Jerick and his family tried unsuccessfully to restrain us! But now, we are free, to cast chaos, like we did before!"

"Then let's do our job," Ruin grunted, as he strode towards the great city, only to have Death hold his weapon in front of him, blocking his path.

"No… not yet. We are few, and it would be pointless to assault a city," Death growled, as Death huffed.

"Fine. What next? Perhaps a little cup of tea in some small town?" Ruin asked sarcastically. "Remember our purpose… to spread chaos."

"Yes. We will. But not now," Death replied impatiently. This idiot of a man was getting on his nerves. "Assault Varrock, and the entire army of the Saradomists will be hounding us. Stick to the shadows, gain a reputation, rally low-lives, and then take the big cities."

"Okay… I agree with Death. Going in with half a plan is a sure way to get killed," Doom interjected, offering her opinion.

"Fine, then. Looks like I'm outvoted," Ruin sighed. "What now?"

"You were right about earlier… if only the 'small town' part. We just go burn a few houses in Rimmington, and with luck it'll be attributed to some wandering band of marauders," Death said, as Doom nodded her agreement. They began to walk southwest, straight through Varrock. It was nighttime, and nobody would be out at this unholy hour. Besides, nobody really cared about who came and went, as long as they didn't bring trouble.

**A Few Hours Later…**

"FOR THE LAST, TIME, I SAID NO!" Anja screamed at this grungy hobo that had apparently waltzed into her house and started pestering her.

"Arr… come on," the man groused. His name was George, and he was tired, hungry, and thirsty. He wore only a leather top, and was recently beaten up by a pack of goblins. "I'd die for a few coins, if only to eat!"

"Fine… fine…" Anja relented, passing a few gold coins. From the other side of the room, Hengel snorted.

That would be the last moment of their lives. Had Hengel taken the time to look outside, he would have seen a rushing blast of fire… heard the malevolent whisper of death… but he didn't. The rush of fire engulfed the entire wooden house, burning it and its inhabitants. Hengel died almost instantly, being charred. His smoky and carbonized corpse fell to the ground, as the other two froze, looking on with shocked eyes. George, having some experience in combat, realized what was happening, and grabbed Anja by the shoulder, trying to save the both of them.

George shoved Anja down the steps, shouting, "Come on! Let's go!"

Anja, sobbing at the loss of her husband, stumbled around, unable to see with the smoke. She tripped on a slab of debris, and screamed as the roof fell through. But she wasn't going to die that way. Instead, the bronze scimitar, Hengel's pride and joy, would. It was unstable, and fell down, piercing her, and ending her screams forever. George, not aware of what was happening, managed to make it outside, a burning, screaming torch. He stopped, dropped, and rolled around. Fortunately for him, he managed to survive the destruction of this house. Unfortunately for him, he was going to meet a worse fate. He looked up, gasping, thankful to be alive, when a large, armored figure looked over him, slightly bemused.

"You… have… to help… please!" George gasped, lungs damaged from the smoke. His eyes widened in terror, as the warrior, Ruin, instead of helping him up, lifted his boot, and brought it down on his face.

George did get his coins… and died for them too. Ruin looked towards the other two, and shrugged. They decided that one house was good enough, so that their attacks would be attributed to a murderous clan.

**Next Day**

TheUndead walked by Rimmington. He sometimes liked to see the people in the little town, considering that he heralded from that town himself, before being shipped off to Tootriayl Island. He walked around, pausing to get some water from the well. He was lagging behind on his herblore, and intended to rectify that. After filling up several buckets, he decided to continue east, when he noticed something strange. Anja and Hengel… their house was destroyed! Where it once stood, only ashes existed! He dropped his buckets, staring at the wreckage with an open jaw. Then, he started running north, towards the White City of Falador. If anyone could stop this, it would be the famed White Knights.

**In Rimmington…**

The middle-aged man looked around, frowning. Ever since the… event at Anja's and Hengel's land, mercenaries started pouring in, claiming that they could would protect the civilians… in exchange for a moderate sum. Those pathetic fringe-life scum… taking advantage of peoples' fears. Sometimes, it was all he could do not to kick their asses and leave them bruised and bloody. Unfortunately, the others decided to hire the mercs, and right now, they were socializing, rather than doing what they were paid for.

Bashereth sighed, and went back inside his house. He absent-mindedly scratched the scar on his right bicep, a souvenir from another time. It would be practically impossible to get some work done with the mercenaries drinking all night and passing out on his fields. He slammed the door shut, and his son, Orion, yawned, and stood up.

"What to do today?"

"Nothing. There's no point. Might as well sit tight and wait for something to happen," Bashereth replied. He walked into the kitchen, and began cutting up his meat. Orion was left to ponder by himself... mainly about life, recent events, and if need be, the enigma that was his father.

Bashereth. He didn't know much about him. He never spoke about his past, preferring to keep to mundane subjects like the weather or supplies. Despite this, he allowed Orion to learn the refined art of sword-wielding… yet never allowed him to travel like so many of his heroes.

"The sword is a weapon of defense. Not offense. It will be your best ally, but if you go too far, your worst enemy," he had said. "Remember that."

Even as the other people his age grew up, went to Tootryial Island to learn to become warriors and adventurers by the best, he was stuck here. He was born a farmer, and would die as one. Pretty boring life.

Of course, between the lack of heroics attributed to him, and his father's apparent agnosticism/atheism… the ladies didn't really like that. .

He sighed, and began to start his daily calisthenics. Even though he would not need the refined strength usually associated with heroes, he still felt like it. It was called self-esteem.

**Midnight**

The chaotic trio looked over the small town again. This time, however, there were many mercenaries accompanying the sparse layout of houses this time. Not a good thing. More people meant more witnesses.

"What to do now?" Ruin asked, shifting around in his armor. It was not in his nature to stay still for long.

"Hit and run. That one there, on the edge, doesn't seem to have many people around it. Let's try that for now," Doom replied, pointing to said house.

Ruin grumbled. He preferred open combat, where he didn't have to stay his weapon… but that was his expertise, wasn't it? Open warfare. Thusly, Doom's area involved hiding, sneaking, and spying, and Death covered intelligence and magic. And, right now, hiding and sneaking were the main purposes, which meant Doom took the point. "Let's go."

The other two nodded, and prepared themselves, loosening up. Then, they began to walk. Teleporting took an unnecessary amount of energy, and besides, night was the best cover.

Elsewhere, three of the mercenaries were scattered away from the main body of the others, as they sat around a small fire of their own making. They preferred to be alone, well away from the drunken debauchery of the others. Their names were Jack, Jenna, and Nameless. The three of them came from different backgrounds: Jack from a middle-class family in Varrock, Jenna from a rich political family in Falador, and Nameless… well… he came from somewhere. Most likely a cheap hut in Kandarin. The three of them were strong warriors, having graduated at the top of their respective classes at the Academy… even though they attended at different times. They met each other somewhere in the Wilderness, holed up by Revenants, and by some miracle, managed to escape… with each other. That incident had forged a strong bond between the three, as they covered and protected each others' backs. Since then, they had traveled together, believing in the old maxim, "strength in numbers." Despite their differences, they all loved each other like brothers and sisters… and bickered as much as a family.

Nameless tried to roast a helping of shrimp, but only succeeded in burning them… again. He gritted his teeth, and threw the lumps of 98 char, 1 meat, and 1 unidentified substance into a large pile of the same. He was the oldest of the three, and assumed the unofficial mantle of leader.

"Having problems with cooking again?" Jenna smirked. She was certainly better at the age-old art of transforming raw meat into cooked meat, as she finished roasting her third lobster. She was the only female of the three, but was certainly not to be underestimated. Those that did eventually found themselves with a broken bone… or twenty. She was rather attractive, with pale skin, blue eyes, and dark hair, which was often cut short or tied back. She looked over her well-cooked lobsters, and separated them into three courses, using leaves as dishes. "Want some?"

"No, I don't!" Nameless muttered. He hated being reminded of his shortcomings.

"Fine. Jack, you get Nameless's share," Jenna relied, offering two lobsters to the third, Jack. The large one grinned happily, as he tore into the seafood. He was, physically, the biggest of them. He wasn't particularly bright in terms of feelings or planning, but his loyalty to his friends knew no bounds, as he often picked fights with anyone that would dare to say ill of them. It was a recurring joke between Nameless and Jenna to say that he was being trailed by no less than four knights to prevent brawls.

At this point, Nameless was feeling sorry that he refused Jenna's offer, and to distract himself from his growling stomach, he looked around, hoping to find something more interesting than the night sky. His sharp eyes detected a patch of darkness a smidge darker than the night, and pointed. "What's that?"

The other two looked, confused. Their eyes, having stared at the fire for too long, adjusted in time to see it raise a staff. Fire billowed out of the point, and began to surround a house close to them. "There must be people in there!" Jenna cried out.

Jack was ahead of them. He ran towards the burning house, hollering to his comrades, "I'll get the people out. You stop him!" The other two nodded, as they began to pull out their combat gear, Nameless with his Abyssal whip and Jenna with her Dragon scimitar.

Jack ran up the house, amazed that it wasn't destroyed yet. He kicked once, twice, and then thrice, knocking the door down. "Come on! We gotta get you out of here!" he yelled. Then, two people, one a generation older than the other came into the hall. The older one was buckling a steel sword to his belt, and the younger already held an iron scimitar at the ready. The two of them seemed surprised at Jack, and he supposed that they had a valid reason. They were some of the few that refused to pay for their services, and yet, he was still helping them.

"Get down!" The older yelled, as he drew his steel blade. Jack complied, and a large arrow zipped past him, through the area that his head recently vacated, and thucked into the wall. Jack cursed, and turned around, to see a large warrior, even taller and wider than he was, bringing his hammers down viciously. Jack rolled over, and narrowly avoided the hits. Even so, he was wide open for another attack. Ruin, snarling in annoyance, swung again… only to be thrown off target as a stone vase shattered against his shoulder. Bashereth dashed forward, leaping as he swung his sword down. Ruin, taken off guard, stumbled as the sword clanged off his armor. He booted the interloper viciously, sending him down. By this time, however, Jack had gotten up, brandishing his own hammers. He swung around, catching the dark warrior on his back. That attack would have killed a black knight instantly, as the crushed armor would restrict breathing, but surprisingly, he still stood. Angrily, Ruin grabbed Jack by the scruff of his neck and hurled him away over a length of seven feet. The warrior laughed gleefully, as he turned to the other two, only to see another join the fray. This one had an Abyssal whip, and would probably prove to be a better prey than the first.

"So many people to kill! Such luck!" Ruin laughed. Even though they may nothave known it, he was just playing with them, scaling his strength down.

As Jack was being thrown into the air, ice formed around him, dangerously dropping his body temperature. Another warrior, a mage, laughed at this spectacle, as he joined the first. Luckily, he landed in a patch of soft grass, which prevented his body from shattering. Unfortunately, he was still encased in ice, and he began to go into hypothermic shock. He blacked out, only to be revived again. Jenna was kneeling besides him, generating a mini-furnace on her palm, melting the ice, as Nameless joined up with the two civilians, as they valiantly began to twist and combat with the other two. Quickly the ice thawed.

Jack stood up, breath coming in short, ragged bursts, until he was able to move easily again. He turned to Jenna, saying "Thanks." This was not the first time that she saved his life, and it certainly wouldn't be the last. Jenna nodded, and pointed towards the five that were dancing, dodging, and weaving amidst attacks. Surprisingly, the civilians were still alive, a fact that he attributed to the presence of Nameless. Not willing to be left out, Jack rushed in with Jenna, ready to fight.

Death stood back, bored. He was indulging in Ruin's petty fantasy in sporting chances, but enough was enough. Time to show these five weaklings what they could do. He expended a small fraction of his strength into levitation, and raised his staff. Lightning crackled from its tip, and began to strike the ground. He laughed. Soon, these mortals would die.

Bashereth saw the mage raise his staff, and project lightning, a spell that he had never heard of. If that one was powerful enough to do so… then… the warrior must be equally powerful to be fraternizing with him. His eyes widened, as he realized that they had no chance of winning this battle. "Come on!" He urged his son, and to a lesser extent, the mercenaries. He turned tail, and ran back to the slow burning house. Wood covers, steel walls. Much better than just wood huts, and cheaper than limestone houses. He ran down, the steps, followed by the other four. He ripped open a section of the floor, and jumped in, followed by Orion, Jack, Jenna, and Nameless. Moments later, the house collapsed over them.

Death saw the weaklings run into the house, which, for some reason, still stood, but should stand no longer. Perhaps there was more to it than meets the eye. He didn't bother to run a check on it. So, they thought that they would be safe there, huh? He nodded to Ruin, who began swinging his hammers. His staff charged, turning to a wicked red, until red lightning split the air, as Ruin threw his hammers. All of which were aimed at the house. Nothing could stand against that. The chaotic energy struck the house dead-center, and it shattered the framework, bringing everything down.

Ruin turned to Death. "What now? They would have heard our ruckus by now."

"Right. Because of your desire to drag out the fight!" Death snarled. His temper cooled, and he continued, "Kill everyone."

Ruin grinned, as he gripped the hammers tighter…

**Rimmington**

Sarchale wandered around the fire, searching for her place. She left it momentarily to grab a beer… and it was gone. She saw her place… and the snoring person on it. She snorted, and kicked him aside. It was HER seat, and nobody else's. She, like many others, had heard of the fracas that happened in Rimmington, and like many others, she saw this as an opportunity to earn some quick and easy cash. She sat down, and looked to the person next to her. He was rummaging through HER pack. Annoyed, she slapped him, grabbing her bag.

Then, all hell broke out. The man, as drunk as a depressed pirate, stumbled with the force of the slap, straight into an arrow that pierced his head. Sarchale, realizing that she was about to see some action, cried out, "Attack! Attack!" Before limbering up, stumbling as she stood up to quickly. Damn. She shouldn't have drank that last beer. She looked around, and saw that her fellow mercs were in a similar predicament, and she looked in the general direction from where the arrow originated, expecting to see an entire clan… but only seeing three warriors. She laughed. Three people were nothing. She ran towards them, sword raised, and knew that the others were following her.

Overconfidence would lead to death. The first rule of combat. A mage raised his staff, and jagged lightning originated from the point, striking many of the advance force. They all fell, a small hole burned in their chest. Then, the ranger raised her bow, three arrows nocked, and let fly. Three men fell, and then three more… and then more. But that was the least of their worries. The largest, stormed into their ranks, ignoring their swords and daggers as an angry bear might ignore hornet stings, and swung around. Each hit from his hammers released an explosive force, which caused the victims' chest to cave in… if they were lucky.

Sarchale realized that the battle was lost. So, she did what every self-respecting fighter would do. She knelt down, crying, "Have mercy! I yield! Please!" Around her, some of the faster ones began to emulate her. The large warrior, shaking off the effects of the fight, walked up to her. If she didn't know better, she'd think that he was grinning at her from behind his helmet.

"What is it that you want?" The warrior asked amusedly.

"My lord… my master… if you spare me, then I will serve you," Sarchale babbled, words streaming out of her mouth.

"Tempting… but no," Ruin sneered, as he brought his hammers high. Around them, other mercenaries were being mercilessly executed.

"Fine… then take this!" Sarchale shouted, as she dug her runite longsword in the gap between helmet and armor… the neck. Then, without looking back, she ran away, pumping her legs. Behind her, an angry growl sounded, as Ruin tore the blade out, and threw his hammers at this fool. Both hammers connected with Sarchale's back, and she fell, her spine broken.

The three looked to each other, and then to the town of Rimmington. The place would have to burn. Anybody could have seen that only three caused the same amount of damage as a clan, which was not acceptable. The bureaucrats were slow to respond to mortal vigilantes, but divine warriors... that could potentially be a different story.

Ruin took the initiative, boosting his chaotic powers, causing the dry earth in a half-meter radius around him to crumble and shatter. He smashed down one house, and then another with ease. Death came next, burning the inhabitants. Doom lagged behind, sniping survivors that tried to flee. An hour later, their grisly work was done, and none survived.

It was time to raise an army and rally allies. But first, lowlifes had to be recruited. Mercenaries... not unlike those that they recently decimated. And the best place to call such a gathering was Morytania, or more specifically, the Hair and Dog Pub.

**A/N: Second redesigned chapter up. Wootness. Merry Christmas, Happy Hannukah, or Kwanzaa to you all. :)**


End file.
